


Extension of Oneself

by Hooda



Series: Tipping Tides [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Cassian likes to watch her from afar, Jyn beats the shit out of someone during training because they really underestimate her sometimes, Jyn likes to train, Sebastian is slowly getting used to the adopted life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hooda/pseuds/Hooda
Summary: War never really leaves their blood, their minds, their expressions. It lingers like a stench that never truly goes away, no matter how much one scrubs every trace of evidence away. Remnants of a life spent in shadows waiting for the right shot hangs on a wall - taken apart so Sebastian doesn’t hurt himself - of their bedroom. The scorching memories of a child soldier wash over her as she pulls a pair of truncheons out from a drawer of a closet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was particularly wary about writing this stringy little snippet of a story, but it kept nagging at the back of my mind and I couldn't help myself. The fighting portion of this is based off of mostly the combat sport I participate in, but feel free to comment about a correction that can be made! I'm open to criticism! - H

A long time ago, Saw taught little Jyn Erso that truncheons were like an extension to one’s arm. The blade was a part of her bone and wrist, fingers curled around it with the vice of someone who has everything to lose. Her first lessons weren’t about history or math but about how to best strike an enemy’s weakest spots. She could swing a truncheon and hit every point of an enemy like they were putty and she was forcefully reshaping them. Often times she retired late at night from training with bruises lining her arms from failed drills or her legs hurt from getting tossed too hard. She never minded so long as she was fighting for something bigger than herself, for the cause, for anything Saw believed in at the time.

 

By ten years old, Jyn fights like none of Saw’s other soldiers. She swirls and jabs with practiced ease, matching stride for hit and bruise for bruise. He watches from the shadows as the truncheons extend from her arms like claws and she is suddenly able to reach to longer lengths like never before. By eleven, she is an unstoppable hand to hand combat soldier. At some point, two grown soldiers leave the rebel group for a mission with healing broken arms. They always kept a clear berth around her from then on.

 

She puts those lessons to use now, over a decade later as she faces off a New Republic soldier on Naboo. The training room walls are made of soft greying stone that reminds Jyn of the sand structures of Jedha. Sunlight wafts in through the large doorway leading out onto the city of Ikara’s streets, connecting this room to the rest of Command.

 

The area is big enough to host a group of people who pack in to watch the whispered Jyn Erso from Scarif fight one of the best New Republic ground soldiers as of late. Everywhere around the fighting mats are mutterings and bets being passed around - most are not in her favor apparently - but she has a wild energy pent up inside of her since her last mission two nights ago. The tingles spread through her fingertips now just like every other time she fights with her preferred tools.

 

At the back of the room, leaning against a crate with arms crossed in that signature blue parka and eyebrows furrowed, stands Cassian. He nods at her and she waves him off. Sebastian sits quietly next to him with wide eyes and clutching onto Cassian’s sleeve.

 

Tarniff, her opponent, cracks a few knuckles. He sizes her up in a single gaze and scoffs a little. It is almost justified, Jyn knows, because he is a massive looming pinnacle of muscle and restless tension waiting to take a hit at her. Blond hair shifts over his green eyes and his thermal vest presses finely over his shirt. Him, like her, has abandoned all but the necessary clothing layers for the fight.

 

“I don’t know,” Tarniff drawls out a little bit, facing his buddies who sit sipping bottles of what Jyn knows is smuggled alcohol. Drinking was not tolerated in the barracks but anyone could pay off a certain captain or a Wookie for a bottle of hooch. Cassian’s eyes are the only part of him really moving, glancing between Jyn and Tarniff and the eager friends on the sidelines. There’s less than ten of them, all cheering on their mate. 

 

Some of them whistle at her. Others laugh and trade fingers of credits.

 

“You don’t know what?” Jyn presses cooly. Her truncheons are clasped in her tight fists and ready for when she needs to drop them with the click of a button; claws.  
Feet apart, hands at the ready. Keep your cool until they press on you.

 

Tarniff snorts. “They say you’re one of the best fighters here, but you can’t even reach the height of my shoulder.” Jyn doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to.  
“Height does not matter when it comes to the actual fighting.”

 

Tarniff’s shoulders stiffen slightly and Jyn presses her thumb to the release button; waiting, watching. The soldier’s smug expression turns downward on her. He is used to being the one of the best and Jyn has often run across this type of soldier too many times for her comfort. They think that by physically building themselves they can be the champion warrior, but many still struggle to remember that a fight requires just as much mental coordination as foot drills.

 

They round one another like predators and the temperature of the room seems to drop. Her heartbeat pounds in her eardrums and she isn’t sure if it is Saw’s or her own voice repeating fighting technique in her mind. The waiting silence presses on like a blanket around the room. Cassian stares and Sebastian pulls his sleeve tighter into his fist.  
Arms up, legs wide enough for balance; get a reaction.

 

They keep circling but neither ventures for the first move; instead they test the waters with glances and stepping close, then far again, circling.  
She breaks the silence by stomping her boot down on the floor and she releases a short yell - Tarniff visibly flinches - and Jyn lets the truncheons fall as she lunges forward. The tips barely reach her knees compared to the actual ones that she uses for combat. These are a standard issue training pair that the Alliance had sitting around in an equipment closet somewhere on Hoth years ago and Jyn now keeps them close.

 

She charges with her left side facing Tarniff to cover herself but twists at the last moment when she is close enough to club him with her right arm instead. She completely changes her tactic midair and it leaves him scrambling to quickly take cover. Saw once taught her that making one little noise could upset your enemy just as efficiently as shooting a blank round at them before. 

 

The truncheon lands a blow to Tarniff’s shoulder and his buzzed companions roar with laughter and cheers at the first hit. Some other onlookers press themselves into the shadows of the room and prefer to observe from a quiet distance. Sebastian grins a little.

 

Tarniff recovers and swings at her with a meaty hand. She ducks, keeping her feet wide and bouncing on the balls of her feet, and is able to step back enough to not get hit. The tingling in her fingertips spreads into her wrists, her elbows, her shoulders, and before she knows it Jyn is pulsing and ready to devour this enemy. Another fist comes swinging at her again, aiming to grab and pull. From the back of the room Jyn thinks she hears Sebastian cheering her on a little.

 

Her feet never stay still and her arms are always up, protecting her midsection from direct hits. Unlike the fight on Jedha so many years ago, this time Jyn has the luxury of finding a pattern to a single enemy and the time to be efficient and precise with her movements. She moves around, avoiding hits and stabbing back, always wary.

 

Tarniff advances and throws out a blow close enough to graze Jyn’s hair.

 

The truncheon hits an arm and Tarniff grimances through the pain, reaching for a truncheon. She is quick enough to retract the second one to prepare a blow but not for Tarniff actually getting his hands on the first one. He pulls down on it and it rips from Jyn’s fingers too easily. She would care, in a different time, but she is too angry to do anything else but aim a kick at Tarniff’s knee. It’s a little bit of a desperate hit but she wants to weaken him as much as possible. The room is swallowed in howls and cheering.

 

Tarniff does not hesitate to swing the truncheon down on Jyn with blistering force and she blocks it off with her last remaining weapon. She backpedals and manages to keep herself from getting pelted physically by a hit yet. Quiet eyes monitor her every move.

 

She keeps letting Tarniff push her back and it is only at the last moment he realizes his mistake with wide eyes. Jyn takes a longer step back than before and practically throws herself at him and aims a precise kick to his side. Her boot hits him squarely on the waist and he groans out a stunted breath. Jyn is too quick for him to grab her retreating leg and instead charges his massive body at her, eyes livid.

 

She is able to sidestep him easily and land a double blow to his shoulder, which drags a groan from him. One kick gets aimed for his knee from the back and he almost crumples trying to keep himself upright and turning around completely to face her at the same time. Jyn doesn’t take any chances.

 

Her single truncheon is flying again and is an extension of her body at the same time. It sails through the air and hits Tarniff on the shoulder, on the back of the knees, on the soft side of his belly. It may be just a set of training truncheons, but Jyn makes it hurt like hell.

 

The fight is over too quickly. Bottles clink on the floor as Tarniff’s companions rush out into the middle of the room and hoist him up. (Black eye, bruised, shoulder slightly out of place and in need of some batch.)

 

Whatever adrenaline that pulsed through Jyn seems to drain from her body when she sees Sebastian bounding from the back of the room where he sat with Cassian towards her. She drops the truncheon in favor of picking him up and swinging him high into the air before settling his weight around her side. The translation bot shrieks something indignantly as its little pincers struggle to hold onto the fabric of shirt around Sebastian’s shoulders. Cassian comes down at a more appropriate pace, but he’s grinning with pride.

 

“Ganaste! Ganaste!” Sebastian shrieks, little hands pressing against her cheeks. His eyes are so bright Jyn feels like she might explode from watching him too closely when he is as energetic as this. Hope, she remembers, can shine so brightly in the youngest of eyes.

 

From across the training room Tarniff groans and cradles an arm. His friends may be in the thick of getting buzzed and throwing around credits after lost bets, but the defeated soldier catches her eyes with his. Something akin to what she thinks is respect flashes through his expression and he jerks his head at her in what she thinks is a nod. But then Cassian is lifting Sebastian from her arms and she pulls her attention from across the room.

_______

That night Cassian makes a celebratory dinner of chilaquiles per Sebastian’s request. They turn out perfect, like everything Jyn has yet to taste that Cassian cooks. Sebastian sits between them at the table with his plate and a never ending smile and that is prize enough for winning the fight. The translation seems to purr on his shoulder.  
Cassian flashes her one of his brilliantly rare smiles as they clean the up after the evening meal and she thinks that maybe smiles and looks of happiness - something she has long been deprived of since an age younger than Sebastian - and it is enough.  
_______

Her knuckles are red and sore the next few days but Jyn barely notices. She has had to endure through infinitely worse for freedom and happiness.  
_______

War never really leaves their blood, their minds, their expressions. It lingers like a stench that never truly goes away, no matter how much one scrubs every trace of evidence away. Remnants of a life spent in shadows waiting for the right shot hangs on a wall - taken apart so Sebastian doesn’t hurt himself - of their bedroom. The scorching memories of a child soldier wash over her as she pulls a pair of truncheons out from a drawer of a closet.  
Late one night, after they finally get through one night without stumbling in the dark over each other’s feet and Cassian finally gets the tune down to her lullaby, they promise each other that they won’t let their son face a life like they were forced to.  
_______

Years later Jyn watches with pride as Sebastian spars with a fellow soldier. He is quick on his feet and uses his slim build to slip around easily on the training mats. By thirteen, Sebastian can take an enemy down in less than five minutes with a truncheon and his bare hands. The soldier falls to his knees in defeat and Sebastian flashes a handsomely devious smile of victory.  
_______

He leaves for the academy five years later with the blue scarf he came home wrapped in around his neck. It isn’t until he on the ship to the academy, sitting with his childhood best friend Poe and other friends from training, when he feels the pinprick in his shoulder. He feels out what was in his pack and pulled out an old pair of training truncheons. Somewhere back home Jyn is probably grinning and Cassian’s laughter booming across the room as he says something in Festian about things never changing.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism always appreciated, good or bad, and can be left in the comments below!


End file.
